


Pictures of Lily

by apiphile



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Marauders' Era, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apiphile/pseuds/apiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written in 2004.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Pictures of Lily

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2004.

Lily Evans smiled up from her curl-cornered prison and reached up to brush an errant strand of hair out of her face, turning her eyes away from them as she did so. Remus's fingers gripped the bottom edge of the photograph gingerly.

"Why do you have these?" he whispered as Sirius pried it from his hands with an impatient sigh.

"_I_ took them."

"Yes, but why, Sirius? I thought you hated Evans –"

"She's much less irritating in two dimensions," Sirius said, fixing him with a meaningful and decidedly wicked look, his eyebrows hovering in an odd formation above his nose.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fap fap fap," Sirius grinned, showing too many teeth for Remus to feel entirely comfortable.

"Ack," he pointed out and dropped the remaining photographs as though they were on fire.

Sirius tutted and scooped them from the floor with one hand, tucking them under his pillows. "Honestly, the way you go on about it anyone would think you didn't do it yourself."

Remus yelped again and flung his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you! You're not discussing this with me! I have Potions homework to do! LALALALA!" Hands still clamped firmly over his ears, Remus shuffled around the bed until there was a nice safe three feet of sheets and wood and mattress between him and Sirius's amused mouthings of "fapfapfap, Moony, fapfapfap … fap." He ducked to collect a fresh quill and some parchment and fled to the common room with "faaaaaaaaaaap!" ringing in his ears.

*----*----*

 

But that was then, and this was now – outside Gryffindor Tower angry winds howled fitfully around, rattling the windows and driving flurries of snow back and forth like flocks of geese but never letting up for long enough to let it settle on the ground. Lily had gone home for Christmas, a little bewildered by the way Remus had hung back in the dormitories without saying goodbye, his face colouring as Sirius shoved past him with his trunk and muttered "_fap_" out of the corner of his mouth; Sirius was going to spend Christmas with James, and Remus found the idea of these shared festivities slightly alarming – in his mind's eye Sirius and James had already managed to destroy Christmas lunch and scorch the tree with one of their well-intentioned "accidents". James had bounced out with one final: "Are you _sure_ you can't come?", leaving him to nod sadly and return to his Potions homework.

He wasn't sure he really understood the logic behind his parents' insistence that he ought to spend Christmas at Hogwarts. He'd pointed out that he could study perfectly well at home, that there would barely be anyone in the castle, that he had most of the books he needed, that the library was shut over the holidays anyway, but they had remained adamant. His mother had scrawled something indecipherable on the end of her last letter which looked suspiciously like "meeting girls" and Remus had found himself unable to formulate a reply to properly explain that he'd met almost every single girl in his year, he just hadn't _met_ them and would she please stop trying to worry about who he was going to _marry_, for the love of – and so, instead, he had settled for telling them the result of his last Arithmancy test and asking about his father's leg.

"Meeting girls" thus far this season had amounted to being kicked in the shins at dinner by a Slytherin first year who may or may not have been called Caroline, which Remus didn't feel was an auspicious start to a lifelong relationship - although having been a mostly impartial observer to his parents' marriage for his whole life he supposed that it could prove the basis of a successful one, for a given value of 'success'.

Remus realised he'd been staring into the night for the best part of the last hour, and with a vague flap of his hand to remove his fringe (_too long, it needs to be cut again already_) from his eyes, he shut _Perfidious Potions_ and rolled up his parchment, taking a moment to glance around the empty common room to see if he could remember where he'd left the ink pot.

Pyjama-clad and alone in a room full of perfectly-made beds, Remus found his attention dragged once again to the shrieking wind outside. Until the holidays the banshee-like wails had been almost drowned out each night by the chattering of various boys, by Peter's whistling snores and James's growling in-breaths and the long ululating moan of Sirius's out-breaths – an unmusical symphony that he found hard to adjust to the absence of when he went home. Something in the creaking silence of the house he had grown up in ceased to fit him any more, and for a while he had foolishly assumed that it was just the building he had outgrown.

He got up and wandered fitfully around the room, plucking at bed curtains and pausing to scrape his fingers over the bare stone walls. The others might think him sentimental, but they'd never lived in a house that rattled and squeaked in high winds or sat motionless in bed listening to the hushed voices of their parents downstairs listing to each other all the families that no longer spoke to them, now, because of their son.

Remus paused by Sirius's bed, and almost without thinking slid his hand under the pillow and there, from beneath crisp, plumped pillows came a small handful of photographs, curled at the corners and in some cases a little scratched: Sirius's pictures of Lily.

The slips of cardboard shook a little in his hand as Remus climbed cautiously into bed, worn edges rubbing quiet whispers across each other as they moved, until the gentle sifting of photographs brought with it a musky scent that spoke of Sirius and something he couldn't name.

He glanced down at the pictures and was more than a little alarmed to find that the Lily of the top photo had fixed him with a beady glare and was mouthing something indignantly, something which evidently involved a lot of "oo" sounds. It was not so much Lily's expression of disappointed irritation that led to his yelp and brisk turning over of the pictures so that they faced down, however, but the unfortunately familiar and very evocative obscene hand gesture that accompanied it.

"Er," Remus choked. "Er. Um. Sorry."

The photographs, face down, said nothing. He sighed heavily, and on the in-breath caught again that faint smell of Sirius-and-not-quite-Sirius. With a puzzled frown he dipped his head towards the pictures and inhaled deeply, and sure enough, there it was again, as unmistakeably Sirius as the put-on swagger and occasional explosions that followed him like footprints. _Well_, Remus thought unsteadily, _they are_ his _pictures from_ his _bed. Of course they smell of him. After all, anything that someone else handles a lot is bound to smell of them. Stands to reason. _

_Fap fap fap_, said Sirius cheerfully, in his brain.

"Urgle," Remus remarked to no one in particular as he shot back into an upright position, his cheeks colouring. For a few moments he sat completely still, oblivious now to the screeching winds, wondering quite why his face felt so hot and why he felt so incredibly wrong in his skin and quite what was making him so very _aware_ of his own heartbeat.

He raised the duvet suspiciously.

"Ah."

Naturally he was acquainted with the concept of erections – when he was fourteen or so they'd been a source of considerable embarrassment, popping up like an eager puppy – NO, not like a puppy. Not even remotely dog-like! – at the worst possible moments and having to be willed away with thoughts of cold water and maiden aunts, but as he'd grown older they'd faded away to little more than the occasional dawn humiliation and unavoidably sticky sheets. He'd never really grasped quite why Sirius and the others felt so inclined to encourage the whole messy affair.

Grasp. Sirius. Bad choice of words, there.

Remus kicked impatiently at the duvet, knowing his face to be absolutely scarlet and thanking his luck that there was no one around to see. Sliding back across his body, the duvet tugged on his pyjama cloth, scattered the photographs a little, sending up another wave of the by now all-too-identifiable smell and making Remus swallow so hard that he had a momentary panic over the possibility of digesting his Adam's apple.

_No one will know_, said a voice in his mind that sounded more like Sirius than he wanted to admit. Remus caught his hand straying to the collar of his pyjamas and made a strangled noise when his own forefinger brushed at the dip of his throat. _There's no one around_, the voice insisted. Remus tucked his lower lip under his upper teeth to stifle a whimper. _You are quite, quite alone_, the voice pointed out, reasonably, _and it's perfectly natural. _

Remus undid the top button on his pyjamas. It was probably too hot to be wearing pyjamas anyway. He felt too hot, much too hot to be buttoned up all the way to his collarbones like that …

Outside, the wind chased another flurry of snow around the tower.

On the third button he stopped, hands trembling slightly, and slipped his palm across his chest, slowly, slowly, so very aware of exactly where the quill calluses were on his fingers, so very aware of the smoother patch of skin on his thumb from where he'd burnt it in Potions, and as the ends of his longest fingers trailed across his nipple his spine seemed to lock and he dug his teeth deeper into his lip to contain the noises brewing in his throat, nostrils flaring and sucking in still more of that Sirius-and-yet-more musk.

"Mn," he whimpered, pulling his hand back.

"Mrm - !" he cried from around his teeth, urging it forward.

For a few moments – it could have been hours for all he knew – Remus quivered like a bowstring, scarlet-faced, one hand around the base of his throat, the other fluttering like an independent being, back and forth and up and down and around, teasing and stroking at one little bud of flesh (so neglected for so long that he'd almost forgotten it existed) until the heat and the tightening in his groin became too much and with feverish haste he fumbled the remaining buttons undone.

Here again Remus found his hands dallying, his fingers dragging over his stomach, apparently searching for abdominal muscles he didn't have, couldn't have unless he was, oh, a Beater on the Quidditch team –

Even under the boiling torrent of internal heat and the nagging pulse in his groin, beating senselessly against his pyjama bottoms, he felt a rising sense of panic. _No no no no no! _

_Yes yes yes yes YES! _ Replied the voice in his brain. _You don't have to admit it. Just do it. _

Remus slipped his fingers over his hipbones, under the elasticised waist of his pyjama bottoms (and suddenly this previously inexplicable choice of fastening made perfect sense) pulling them down with the backs of his hands – almost, but not quite, by accident – and despite the overwhelming heat, shivering and wincing for a moment as the waistband caught on the head of … Remus exhaled noisily through his nose as he felt his … his … as he felt _it_ spring free, tender head rubbing excruciatingly against his lower abdomen.

The tenderness, the incredible patience with which he gingerly brought his fingers down to touch the head with a soft circling motion would doubtless have confused his contemporaries, with their eager, business-like palms gliding swiftly to the speediest resolution, but Remus felt he could go no further, any increase in pace would kill him as surely as an Unforgivable Curse. Even now with his lightest strokings driving what felt like steel spikes through his testicles, he wasn't sure he was going to survive the experience.

He slid his left hand experimentally down to the base and nearly forgot himself, nearly released his bite on his lip as his questing fingers circumvented the limp mass of his scrotum and encountered the area that Sirius had always managed to revolt him by referring to as "No Man's Land".

Perhaps it was this incongruous thought which alarmed him, perhaps it was the increase in sensation as one not-quite-chewed-down fingernail pressed into his perineum, but at this point Remus shut his eyes and gulped down air, closing his fist with care around the whole rose-petal soft head, flexing his fingers as though he was still ten, still desperately convinced he could play the violin if only he practised his fingering often enough; and with his mind still stuck on this his hand fell down to the – he supposed it must be the throat – rolling back his foreskin with the base of his palm, tearing an uneditable "Aaaaaaammmmmmffffhh" from his mouth before he could stop it, setting his teeth tingling.

_Fap fap fap_, the phantom Sirius in his head reminded him.

"Argh," Remus said, but without much conviction, pulling his hand back up; and somewhere under the mist of heat and the prickly clouds filling his brain, an imaginary Sirius smirked approvingly.

Up, down, up down … Remus's right hand squeezed tighter and tighter while his left pressed more and more firmly up against "No Man's Land" and Remus felt something like pressure beginning to build, build quite rapidly, up everywhere between his gut and his thighs – his legs might as well have been numb, his lungs too small as his breath came in ragged, shallow bursts and he tipped his head back as the immense, unbearable weight grew and grew, dragging his hand faster and faster and faster and –

Something akin to a minor eruption went off in Remus's groin – he jerked, twitched, and slowed, feeling the – surely it was unnatural? – energy leave him, feeling something sticky and viscous and hot running slowly down over his clenched fingers as a feeling of cold shame began crawling up his spine as the wretchedly well-known mess seeped into his pubic hair. It was a moment before he registered that his mouth had finally fallen open, ejecting groan far more throaty than he'd ever thought he was capable of producing. It was a longer moment before his horrified brain realised that someone had just spoken.

"Moony?" repeated the voice – unmistakeably Sirius and – horror of horrors – unmistakeably _outside_ of his head.

"Er," he declared, his sticky right hand clutching frantically at his pyjama bottoms, and his left flying to drag the duvet up to his neck. Had he not been so fazed by the abrupt appearance of Sirius's currently disembodied voice he might have taken a moment to marvel at the co-ordination he displayed in preserving what was left of his modesty.

Sirius's head, tousled and characteristically amused, appeared before him, apparently floating five feet and a few inches off the ground.

"What the fu-" Remus recovered himself just in time. "What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you were staying with James."

"I was. I am. I got bored." Sirius shrugged off the remainder of the invisibility cloak, demonstrating that he had in fact just turned up in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, in defiance of the extremely inclement weather outside. He flopped on the end of the bed, hitting his foot on one of the bedposts, and gave Remus a plaintive look. "Do you hear that, Moony? I got _bored_. That's all your fault, that is. If you'd have just come to James's like he asked I wouldn't have had to fly all this way, IN THE SNOW and sneak into the castle under a cloak and –"

"Er. I. Hello."

Sirius eyed him suspiciously. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Yes?"

He folded his arms and turned away with an air of excessive hurt. "Fine then. I shan't – hello …" Forgetting his sulk, Sirius bent to the floor and lifted up what Remus realised with a sinking heart was one of his pictures of Lily, which had presumably fallen onto the floor while he, Remus, was … otherwise occupied. "Been borrowing these, have you?" Sirius asked with a smirk.

"Not really. Maybe a little."

Sirius waved a hand airly. "Not a problem, my dear chum, not a problem at all, I shan't tell James if you don't, eh?" He flipped the photograph at his own bed with thumb and forefinger and missed by a good six inches. "Just so glad to see you _indulging_ like a normal person, for a change."

_See_. The word echoed around Remus's head, sending rods of cold white guilt down his spine and making him stiffer that the backboard he leant against. "Were you watching me?"

Sirius turned at the waist and lunged, his hands holding the duvet down on either side of Remus, effectively pinning him to the bed. He grinned, one of his Sirius-Black-Special-Ear-To-Ear-What-I-Don't-Look-Insane-Do-I grins, the kind he normally reserved for … first year Slytherin girls, now that Remus came to think of it.

"When?" he asked, in a conversational tone that was completely at odds with the breadth of his smile.

Remus shut up. He knew better than to try and remain calm in the face of The Grin.

"Just now, you mean?" Sirius probed, his grin fading like snow from a stove. "Just these last few minutes when you were wanking like a madman?" He turned his head on one side and squinted at him appraisingly.

Remus swallowed again.

"I was watching," Sirius said, his grin gone, his voice deeper than usual, his heart-beat oppressively loud. Then, with no apparent change of mood, he added in a lighter voice, "you have incredibly _girly_ eyelashes."

"I _had_ girly eyelashes," Remus retorted, pleased to find the subject of the conversation had shifted away from his nocturnal experiments, "until _someone_ blew a cauldron up in my face last term and nearly took my eye out."

"Doing you a favour," Sirius said, his breath hot against Remus's throat and his face too, too close to be comfortable, his skin too near to Remus's to support the idea that perhaps this was just Sirius being Sirius, playing one of his inexplicable jokes. "Bloke can't go around having girly eyelashes like that."

"Mmph," Remus said non-committally, his heart thundering away in his chest like a full-scale naval battle. He could smell Sirius, too, the dirt in his hair and the motorbike oil on his jeans mingling with the smell of fresh Sirius-sweat and melting snow and reminding him unfairly of the photographs, those bloody photographs …

"Any particular reason for not actually wanting to look at them?" Sirius muttered into his ear.

Remus jumped. Sirius's hands were moving slowly, slowly up his sides and he felt fairly certain that this time he really was going to die, his heart was going to explode out of his throat in a shower of innards and there would be mess everywhere and he probably wouldn't even get into the afterlife, they'd just make him _explain_ himself and he couldn't show up in the afterlife half-dressed and still sticky from oh …

"Girly eyelashes," Sirius whispered, his lips tickling the lobe of Remus's ear as his hands rested lightly on his ribcage.

_Yes but the rest of me is still male_, Remus thought indignantly, but he couldn't seem to make his mouth work properly, and all that happened was that a barely audible mew fell out of his mouth and Sirius inhaled sharply right next to his ear and sighed, "do that again," in a very un-Sirius tone of voice.

"Erf," Remus suggested, finally getting his hands under his own control and using this moment of dominance over his motor processes to pull Sirius's face away from his ear. Unfortunately he only succeeded in getting the boy's mouth in slightly closer proximity to his own. "Sirius," he said, pushing him away, "what are you _doing_?"

Sirius gave him an un-Sirius look to go with his un-Sirius voice. It was slightly woe-begotten, wide-eyed, and a little hurt – genuinely hurt, not the badly-acted stuff that Sirius plastered over his face whenever anyone prevented him from getting his own way. He put his hand over Remus's, dragged it from the back of his head to his face, and clasped the palm side of it with his other hand.

Remus felt an inappropriate flutter of relief that it was his _left_ hand.

"You looked," Sirius said, holding Remus's hand far too close to his mouth, "so _good_." He put the tip of his tongue out to touch the tip of one of Remus's fingers and Remus bit down on his lower lip again, startled and somewhat embarrassed to find the colour rising in his cheeks again. "Moony," Sirius added, licking the tip of the next finger, "you have no idea."

"I don't," agreed Remus in a strangled tone, even though by this point he rather felt he did; Sirius had clearly gone insane.

"Please," Sirius said breathily, moving closer.

Remus wondered if his heart was going to actually just stop in his chest before it got a chance to explode, and then Sirius's lips were on his throat, two wet fingers of flesh nipping at his skin and playing some inner violin like a virtuoso, and his head draped back and his eyes swept shut without him really meaning them to, and Sirius's fingers had crept into his hair while he wasn't paying attention and even though his fingernails were digging into his scalp a little Remus couldn't find the word _stop_ anywhere in his vocabulary anymore.

Then, like the flicking of a light-switch that turns on the flood lamps, he felt something else take over, pulling a crackling growl into his throat and putting his hands to Sirius's wrists in a vice-like grip and pulling them from his head and pushing them back, back along the bed so that the momentary look of bewilderment on Sirius's face was replaced by a startled smile as Remus's weight pinned him down, so that Remus's hips ground into the waistband of his jeans, insistent, needy, _hungry_.

He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to laugh, and Remus was upon him, holding his wrists still, his mouth eager and violent and fierce, thrusting his tongue between Sirius's lips over and over. Sirius squirmed beneath him, trying to wriggle out of his t-shirt through force of will alone, his hips twitching. Remus disentangled himself from Sirius's mouth for long enough to growl "OFF!" in a very, very, _very_ un-Remus voice and scrabble at his t-shirt with desperate swipes that did nothing to aid Sirius in his attempts to crawl out of the offending garment.

On the floor, one of the pictures of Lily that had landed face up stared up at the peculiar shapes that two boys make when they are trying to undress each other, caress each other and kiss each other all at once, and rolled her eyes.


End file.
